With a Flair of Drama
by Aspirator
Summary: "Natsume's not going to die," she rolled her eyes, oblivious to Sumire's horrified glare, "that would be premature of him." / Fun and light, to treat your character death PTSD.
1. Welcome to Espionage

**With a Flair of Drama**

By _Aspirator_

Disclaimer: GA is not mine. Story is mine.

 _For the worrywarts of FFN, who sweat over the 'Natsume dying' scene. Come on, Natsume is_ always _dying, one way or the other._

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"A spy." Mikan stated slowly.

Sumire huffed, expecting her revelation to her long-time best friend to be a tad more dramatic than this. And a little miffed that the woman managed to cut off her 'I-am-a-spy-and-these-are-the-reasons-why-I'm-not-joking' speech. "Yes." She breathed out in a long, annoyed exhale. "The short of it, yes."

Mikan's eyes changed slightly. She frowned, then sat back.

Sumire rose both eyebrows at her. "Well?" Really, Mikan was usually a bit more dramatic than this. Outspoken, loud, used her arms to relay every message no matter how ordinary it was.

"Makes sense."

Sumire frowned, resisting every urge to drop her jaw and gape at her. She narrowed her eyes at the woman sitting in front of her. "You knew."

Mikan shrugged, "I've known Hotaru since birth. Hotaru now works for you."

The head of a secret, not to be named, division of the British Military Intelligence resisted another urge to throw her glass across the room. Figures. She'll have a word with her _staff_ when she gets back. "Yes, well, she shouldn't have told you."

"She didn't really," Mikan moved quickly to defend her childhood friend, "there were just a lot of signs. I _am_ your best friend. Hotaru is also my best friend. You both act the same way. Then she told me you'd recruit me."

"Really?" Sumire frowned; highlighting, circling, and putting in bold the words 'have word with staff' in her mental to-do list.

"Come on, it's the only reason I'm still your best friend. Spies don't have friends." Mikan rolled her eyes, "occupational hazard, and all that."

"Hotaru's your friend."

"Only because _you're_ still my friend." Mikan retorted easily, looking a bit miffed as she recalled a memory, "she would've cut it off as soon as she started working for you. Her words, not mine."

Sumire couldn't prevent the snigger from leaving her lips, at the expense of her best friend's pout. She responded to Mikan's snide comment, "well, you can take care of yourself."

"Which, Hotaru says, is the reason why you will recruit me."

"Right," Sumire clipped as the conversation she imagined in her head when she came over to Mikan's apartment flew out the window. "And did Hotaru happen to predict _when_ I'd recruit you?"

Mikan tapped her chin as she thought, "no…"

Sumire gave her a look, as if to remind her what business she's in and she's still her best friend.

"Fine, she just said that if you do, it'll have to do with a certain agent of yours codenamed the Black Cat."

At the mention of his name, an exasperated sigh left her lips. "Yes." She admitted.

"Who is he?" Mikan placed her chin in her hand, looking at Sumire with an interested spark in her eyes, and mischievous grin.

"An arrogant fucker who, granted, is good at what he does _and_ is good looking," Sumire frowned irritably as if it was somehow the man's fault to be blessed with good looks, "but will get himself killed one of these days."

"Isn't that," Mikan waved her hand in the air gesturally, "an occupational hazard anyway?"

"Not as often as he wishes," Sumire snorted. In the next second, the woman turned into _the_ Sumire Shouda that the British Government knows. She pursed her lips and set her eyes back on her best friend. "You're to be his partner on the next mission."

"Partner?" Mikan frowned, "did we skip over the part of our conversation where you _offer_ me the job, then I accept, then you give me a briefing or training - or whatever?" Before the head of the nonexistent secret servive could respond, she continued, "and anyway, why me?"

Sumire only smirked mysteriously at her confused best friend, true to her profession, and stated shortly, "because you can handle him."

"How are you so sure?"

"Because you've done it before."

Sumire grinned at the ex-girlfriend of Natsume Hyuuga. When Sumire finally caved in and recruited the woman, she knew that Mikan Sakura really had a place in their world all along. She waved away her best friend's questions while plotting their reunion with a mental cackle.

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" ** _YOU! You're the BLACK CAT?!_** _Oh, t_ _hat's just foul - SUMIRE SHOUDA! I can NOT be held responsible for his safety!"_

"I knew you couldn't resist a flair of drama." Hotaru's dry voice stated from her left.

Sumire didn't bother to hide her grin, "no, not when you've robbed me of her reaction to our profession." She snatched a folder from her desk, her heels tapping impatiently against the immaculately clean floor of her office, "back to work."

Their division's best technician rolled her eyes as she accepted the assignment from her superior.


	2. Drama King

**With a Flair of Drama**

By _Aspirator_

Disclaimer: GA is not mine. Story is mine.

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Sumire paced outside the white door, her heels creating an impatient and anxious beat against the tiled floor. This was not the first time Natsume had landed himself in their private emergency room - hence why their division had their own medical staff on hand in the first place - but it had to be the worst. _Yet, the worst **yet**_ , Sumire reminded herself, _that reckless fucker_.

With a resounding _click_ , the head of the secret service stopped her pacing to face the agent that had quietly sauntered up to her. Sumire gracefully turned around, true to her occupation that she knew the presence was there before they made themselves known. She let her guard down, seeing as it was her best friend, and showed the emotional turmoil in her eyes.

Mikan read her expression and smiled reassuringly, "he'll be fine."

"How are you not worried?" Sumire shot back, then proceeded to list irritably the list of symptoms and injuries her agent had sustained. No normal human could sustain that much and come out alive. And as much as they did superhuman things, they were, in the end, humans. And right now, Sumire was painfully reminded of that fact. "You should be cursing me out right now for putting you on a different mission this time."

"Because you're already doing it," Mikan responded calmly.

It was true. Sumire was already beating herself up. She was their handler after all, and they were her responsibility. He was her responsibility. She clicked her jaw, her eyes flashed, then she turned to fold her arms. With masked rage, she hissed, "he better not die on me."

"Natsume's not going to die," she rolled her eyes, oblivious to Sumire's horrified glare, "that would be premature of him."

Sumire opened her mouth to question her agent's sanity, then closed it when Mikan continued explaining with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"He's always been a drama king," Mikan explained casually, but her eyes remain fixed on his lifeless form.

The handler blanched. Natsume Hyuuga? The agent that she recruited years ago who had never so much as twitch a facial muscle at her until she saw him with Mikan? The agent that is _damn good_ at espionage but also can't keep up a casual conversation to save his life?

"…and what would be most dramatic," Mikan continued, unaware of the highspeed train of thoughts running through Sumire's mind, "is to be on the _verge_ of death. Dying would be utterly boring."

"And this is _utterly_ ridiculous," her boss and best friend shot back. "As if _espionage_ wasn't dramatic already." Sumire sighed, tugged at her in exasperation, wondered her own sanity along with everyone else on her team, then muttered, "I don't know why I put up with this."

"Because you're the only one who can handle us." Hotaru's voice came in, the normally emotionless eyes regarding her in a rare expression.

Sumire's spine straightened at the respect that her technician conveyed in her eyes.

Beside her, Mikan nodded in agreement, "Hotaru doesn't care enough, I can't organize a stack of papers let alone a grand scheme, Yuu worries _too_ much, Anna has no confidence, Natsume won't admit others' skills, Koko isn't serious enough, and anyone else who tries will quit on the first day due to migraine and emotional trauma."

And the technician cut in, listing tonelessly, but the sentiment was not lost. "You're sharp, you know how good we are, you can freeze a whole country with one look, you sniff out fear, you can be objective when you want to be, but, in the end, you care." With that, Hotaru gave a pointed look at the closed door, then turned and left the way she came.

Mikan merely smiled, then with a tilt of her head, invited her boss into the hospital room with her. Sumire smiled back, mentally thanking her team for being her team.

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There were times when Sumire could coordinate a plan so grandiose, so ridiculously impossible, and so dangerous that any other team than _her_ team would run away screaming. But they were _her_ team, so they carry it out flawlessly and make her proud.

Then there were times like _these_. When it was the exact opposite and she wondered what state of mind she was in to have recruited every single one of them.

"Congratulations," came Hotaru's dry tone as she watched the team's movements on screen. Mochu's tracker beeped anxiously, Mikan's even breathing could only be heard, and Natsume, of course, remained silent. "You have all royally fucked up." Sumire wanted to thank her for so concisely and eloquently speaking her jumbled mess of curseful thoughts.

Then, of course, Mochu barged into the room of negotiations purely out of panic, causing 10 guns to point at him. But the ten guns were no problem. No, it was because he was too late, and Mikan was halfway across the city. Natsume had rushed out of the 'party' as soon as he had subtly word-sparred with a suspect and found out that their craftily placed Mikan was compromised. But Hotaru had predicted this, of course she had, and so Sumire had planned for this.

Until Mikan's cover was revealed a step too early, and Natsume _didn't stick to the plan - BECAUSE IT WOULD'VE WORKED IN THE END,_ Sumire shouted in her head, cursing his need to be a _fucking hero._ And now everything's a bloody mess.

Literally, in Mochu's case. Ten guns, pah.

About to be, in Natsume's case. Because, _of course_ , he is jumping red clay rooftops and taking the 'inconspicuous' out of 'espionage'. As always.

Sumire Shouda wanted to slam her head on the immaculately white table in front of her. But that would be awfully unprofessional next to her most professional agent - note the sarcasm here - Kokoro Yome. So she didn't.

"I believe," a barely hidden underlying tone of danger, used so frequently on British cabinet members and enemies of Queen and Country, laced Sumire's words. "I said _specifically_ not to do anything that could rip out your stitches, and here you are, ripping out your stitches." Sumire resisted the urge to throw something, then started seriously considering Mikan's suggestion of anger management classes.

"Not all of them," her operative had the audacity to respond into his earpiece as he leaped across a bridge and startled, somewhat angry, Italian floated through their earpieces. "Someone get me morphine while I save Mikan's ass, again."

" _NO ONE_ ," Sumire retorted quickly, at the same time sending out a note to all her current field agents, "get morphine." At the sound of a sharp intake of breath, in which she _knew_ he was going to come up with a snarky answer, she stated, not at all childishly, "suffer, you prat."

Then their alarm words went off and Hotaru quickly triangulated the spot. "Someone at an obscure Italian library just googled _all_ of the terms on our alarm list."

"Mikan," Sumire uttered, and she wasn't the only one who thought it. "Good. Send the coordinates to our reckless knight."

"Could be a trap." Koko offered from beside her, peering at the screen curiously while Hotaru attempted to hack the library's cameras or any cameras in the surrounding streets.

"Perfect, then." Their handler responded easily.

"You're sadistic." Natsume managed to sound affronted, then she heard a grunt and glass breaking. Lots of glass breaking. And tires squealing.

Sumire grounded her eyes shut and saw her agent, bloodied and beat, and those fucking wounds that were _this close_ to killing him from the last time, reopening with a painful tear. _Bloody fucking -_ "If that Russian spy doesn't kill you, _Black_ _Cat,_ " Sumire spat out his codename venomously, " _I WILL."_ Quickly, out of fear or friendship, she didn't know, Koko shoved a glass of very cold water in her hands. She gulped it down in one second.

"Tch." The insufferably full-of-himself agent just scoffed at her. Scoffed! At her! "That's unprofessional."

When all was well and done, because her team could still pull through and finish the mission despite royally fucking up the plan, Sumire had clean up to do.

The elevator announced their arrival, and the big boss couldn't help but great them with a string of profanities and scolding in mind. Sumire stopped the sight of Natsume's injuries coupled with the blood that deposited itself on his apparel instead of being inside his body - _she did tell him not to rip his stitches, didn't she?_ \- and Mikan's affectionate eyes and soft voice wrapping around his own deep grumbling mutters. Sumire stopped from throttling the life out of him, for the sake of Mikan, for the sake of herself, and for the sake of her own sanity.

Still, she'll take him off missions for a month. To give her lungs a break.

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The next time Sumire questioned her own sanity, it was when the Black Cat jumped off the tallest building in the world. Really, it was more of a swan dive. Of course, she reacted well: _"YOU RECKLESS FUCKER! YOU KNOW OUR HELICOPTERS WON'T COME IN TIME, YOU SHIT!"_

"Show off," Mikan's scoff came through the airwaves, causing Sumire to nearly upend the contents of the desk before her. She stood in their headquarters next to an emotionless Hotaru, monitoring the mission tersely. Natsume's signal on their screen indicated a high speed that made Sumire stiffen and an approaching terrace on the Burj Khalifa that _no human_ could possibly survive. She swore never to send Natsume on a mission involving tall buildings, ever, again.

Then again, as if she ever acted on her mental List of Things Never to Send Natsume on Missions With (number one being Mikan in a scandalous outfit to seduce a man - because a jealous Black Cat was a Black Cat she never wanted to deal with, ever, again). Sumire pushed the list to the back of her mind, just thinking about it gave her a headache.

Hotaru pulled up multiple street cameras from the surroundings, for Sumire's sake. Their handler ran through several more curses that could put a drunken jock to shame.

Then, somehow, the Black Cat had acquired a large flag that hung next to one of the terraces - perhaps celebrating some kind of national holiday - and used it as a parachute to create a less than fatal crash landing.

Sumire's curses at the insufferable agent only heightened in rage when he reported his _very much alive_ status through their military channels, with a smug undertone.

"I told you," Mikan's voice came through, "he can't resist a flair of drama."

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Originally planned as a two-shot.

 _I may or may not write some more on a whim; because I know I can't resist pissing off Sumire, plotting the almost-demise of Natsume, and imagining Mikan's nonchalant response to everything - because of Hotaru. Oh, Hotaru._


	3. The Bar

**With a Flair of Drama**

By _Aspirator_

Disclaimer: GA is not mine. Story is mine.

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"Julia," the name slipped out of her lips naturally, as if she'd been saying it her whole life.

"American, really?" The man with the charming smile, those soft blond locks swaying with the tilt of his head.

She only smiled demurely back at him.

After gulping his drink down, in which she looked around as if hinting to him that she was looking at her other options. He turned to address her again. "That's not your real name, is it?" He blinks innocently at her, pushing his glass aside to make space for his elbow, scooting closer territorially.

"No," Mikan smiled innocently back, "I'm on vacation, in Vienna." As if to make her point, she paused to take a long sip from her glass, "flirting with a Austrian. Anonymity is sexy."

"Anonymity?" He questioned, "I hardly think we could call ourselves strangers at this point."

 _Are we?_ Mikan, used to the acts and pretenses of her occupation, sends him a smoldering smile - albeit uncertain. She taps her finger on her glass for a brief second, seeming to make a decision, then turns fully to face him. "We haven't met, have we?" At his affronted look, she quickly added, "I would remember a face like yours."

"Yes," the man recovers his charming smile, but his voice drops threateningly. "You're quite right, Mikan Sakura. You _would_ remember a face like mine."

In a flash, Mikan was on her feet - but not fast enough. She clutched her neck, fingering the small needle that pierced her skin. Grasping wildly at the bar counter, she struggled in vain to stay upright. But her vision only blurred into darkness.

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"There's a reason why you never put me out on the field. I hate it." Came Hotaru's grumble through the earpiece, a little change of hearing for Sumire who is used to her best technician standing right next to her.

"Well," Sumire drawled sweetly, and Koko winced knowing her 'calm before the storm' voice. "TWO OF MY BEST AGENTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN AND I _KNOW_ THEY'RE BEING TORTURED. ONE OF WHICH - THAT'S OUR FAVORITE DEATH-MAGNET, BLACK CAT - COULD BE **_DEAD BY NOW_** FOR ALL WE KNOW. HE HAS BEEN OFFLINE FOR A MONTH, A _**MONTH**_ \- AND NOW _YOUR_ BEST FRIEND FALLS UNDER THE SAME FATE - SO TELL ME-"

"I got them." Hotaru, ever the bold, cut in. It did sound a little too quickly, even for the ever infallible Imai - probably an effect of the dangerous pitch their handler's voice was rising towards.

Their handler released a long breath containing a few obscenities before responding calmly, "And?"

"They're in Vienna."

"Good," Sumire did not sound satisfied at all, "that narrows it down to A WHOLE CITY!"

"You know the earpieces can pick up even the smallest whispers?"

Sumire sucked in her breath, ready to give the technician a piece of her mind -

"Right, that's a fun fact," Koko cut in with a nervous laugh of the _uh-ha-ha-ha_ kind, glancing around quickly for ice, water, towel, _anything_. "Our two agents at crisis, Hotaru? Can we focus, here?"

"I would if I -"

"Not helping!" Koko hurriedly hissed.

A long suffering sigh reached their eyes, causing Sumire to roll her eyes.

After a moment of silence - or peace, in Koko's case - Hotaru's voice piped up again. Nonchalantly, she stated, "I don't understand what all the fuss is about, they obviously can escape on their own. What'd we train them for?"

Koko ran off in search of ice, definitely ice.

Sumire let out a growl that could send tremors down Russian generals, " _Hotaru Imai."_

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Mikan dodged the sharp instruments that were meant to be used to torture her, and threw her legs out to wrap around her much larger opponent. With a grunt, and another evasion of sharp multifaceted blades, there was a resounding _snap!_ and her opponent was no longer anything to worry about.

She stood up with a huff, wincing at the muscular strain on her body. Waking up from a dose of forced unconsciousness does not do good things to your body. She glanced up to meet gazes with sharp scarlet orbs. She nodded in acknowledgment.

He elbowed the last remaining guard, who fell to the ground in a heap, then stomped on his neck. Without so much as a word, Natsume limped towards and past her to the exit.

"That's it?" Mikan frowned, slowing her pace as she stood in a much better physical condition than he was in, "not even a 'thank you'? They didn't get to your brain, right? You _have_ been held in here and tortured for four weeks, you know?"

Natsume glanced back at her wearily, gazing shifting up and down to take her whole figure in. "Bar?"

"Excuse me?" Mikan huffed, affronted.

"Of course," he uttered with a roll of his eyes. "Only thing you know how to do is seduce men."

"Excuse me!" The female agent stomped her foot in mixed frustration, gesturing her arms wildly towards the pile of unconscious bodies they had left behind, "I just _rescued_ your sorry behind - and that was twenty men! You have a broken rib! And a leg! And _right now,_ you wanna talk about the BAR?!"

At that, he whirled around - all bruises and no shirt and black eye and bleeding and all - to stare down at her. Barely an inch away from her own face.

Their heavy breathing filled the darkened and empty hallway, illuminated only by ominous yellow lights placed sparingly.

"We didn't get past names." Mikan felt compelled to whisper lowly. "Not even the lips."

Intense scarlet eyes searched her, as if picking her apart.

With a huff, Mikan dragged out slowly, "He didn't touch me."

"Fine." Then he whirled around and limped out onto broad daylight. As if that made sense and it was the end of discussion (it didn't and it isn't).

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"...I said no helicopters, no high speed car chases, no skyscrapers, no rooftops and balconies. Yet, here we bloody are, in the medical bay." Sumire's was in full lecture mode as soon as she made certain her agents were alive and well onto a speedy recovery.

"So bring back the helicopters." Natsume shrugged, waving off another nurse's attempt at patching him up.

The boss scoffed, "I don't plan these missions for you to satisfy your masochistic need for a dramatic exit."

"You think you don't."


	4. Physics

**With a Flair of Drama**

By _Aspirator_

Disclaimer: GA is not mine. Story is mine.

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"He gets lucky." Nonoko shrugged, looking around to a disappointed crowd, "right? I mean, what else?"

"That's it?" Kitsuneme threw his arms in the arms in the air, "six times in a row? Natsume defies death for six times in a row because _he gets lucky?!"_ The field agent shook his head, "it has to be something else."

In the followng silence, six pairs of eyes turned to Mikan.

The newbie, taken aback, blinked at the attention. "What?"

"Well, you dated him." Koko pointed out, a little meekly when Hotaru gave him a glare.

Dropping her jaw in shock, Mikan looked around at the blank faces. "Are you kidding? The whole department knows?" Her eyes landed on her best friend. " _Hotaru!_ "

"What's done is done. Can't stop it." She responded nonchalantly.

With a miffed huff, Mikan placed her hands on her hips, "Well, _I_ don't know how he does it. I think he's just stupid-" and here she was interrupted with protests, "you know what, I agree. He gets lucky."

A collective groan elicited from the men. Koko and Kitsuneme rolled their eyes at each other, muttering, "spoil sports."

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"Mochiage." Mikan sighed the name in tolerable patience, but allowed herself to be pulled by his arm into a dark hallway, free of prying ears.

"Stop-" Mochu instinctively started on his usual response, then stopped himself. "Alright, everyone calls me that because I hate the name and it's funny and it sucks and nobody wants to say 'Mochu'. I get it. I'll get over it, this one time, for you." Mochu gathered her in again, to Mikan's exasperation.

"What now, Mochiage? Natsume's a space alien?"

"How did you know - " At Mikan's exasperated look, Mochu responded patiently, holding out his hand to emphasize his point, "Okay, just listen, alright? Superman's from a planet with higher gravity. Thus, when he came to earth he can fly. It makes sense. So, Natsume defies death because he was a government project, you know the whole genetics shebang, but then they realized it was ethically and morally wrong. So they released him to live as a normal person in civilization-"

"Mochiage." Mikan sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Come on," Mochiage dragged out the last word, waving his other hand impatiently to elicit a response from the other agent. "What do you think?"

The female agent started by gently pulling Mochiage's arm off of her shoulders and placing it purposefully by his side with a look. "Hotaru told me this would happen-"

In which the man groaned and crossed his arms, "Well, Hotaru's a-"

But Mikan interrupted with a stern look, continuing, "-and here's my crafted response. First of all, no amount of theories and fan girling will get you any closer to the truth about Natsume. Second of all, I don't know why you all put him on a pedestal because he's not that great." Mochu opened his mouth in protest, but Mikan cut in with a hand before he could speak, "Thirdly, if you keep pulling me into dark hallways, Natsume is not going to be your friend."

The third point completely passing over his head, Mochu extended his arm around Mikan's shoulders again. Herding her further into the dead-end despite her advice, he cajoled in a patronising manner, "Mikan, Mikan, Mikan…listen. I've been working here for five years. He's been here two years. You've been here three months. He'll need something from me eventually, and I'll super cool about it. And I'll give it to him. And of course we're going to be friends. Everyone is my friend, even if they make fun of my name. I can tolerate it, for him." Mikan rolled her eyes, attempting to shrug his arm off of her shoulders, but his grip was firm. "Just think about, really. It makes sense-"

"It's a conspiracy, that's what it is." Mikan rolled her eyes, "We work for the government, come on."

"It's not!" Mochu waved his free hand at her indignantly, "Please, it doesn't involve Russia or top secret codenames."

"What doesn't involve Russia?" Came a new voice from behind the huddled pair.

Mochu jumped visibly, immediately letting go of Mikan and twirling around in a flash. Mikan too, whirled with the grace of a spy but was not at all surprised.

Mochu stared at the man he had been theorizing about standing before him with wide eyes. Mikan, seeing that Mochiage was not going to be the first to speak, and Natsume was waiting for some type of response, spoke up, "that's none of your business."

"We're partners," Natsume responded easily, "whether or not we like it," he quoted Sumire at that point, with a smirk nonetheless, "so it should be my business." Turning to the other man, he addressed him, "who the hell are you, anyway?"

"Mo-" Mikan attempted to introduce him, but the man himself cut in.

"Mochiage." He squeaked, then cleared his throat, "what's up, dude?"

One raven eyebrow quirked at him drily. Then he turned back to his partner, "back to work."

"Don't tell me what to do, _partner_." Mikan snapped back with annoyance. Then, with a firm pat on Mochu's back - who is still in shock- she sent him a 'I-told-you-so' smile, "better luck next time, buddy."

Now, it was just Mochiage and Natsume.

The latter eyed the former suspiciously for a brief second, then also took off. Mochu let out a breath. Processing what had just happened, he grinned. "He talked to me!" Mochu thought about it for a second, "sort of. I gotta tell Kits!"

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"Obviously," Kitsuneme emphasized the word, holding up a hand to call attention to himself. "he calculates the physics in his head _while_ running -"

"Right, right!" Mochiage chimed in, "he has an internal ruler in his brain that can understand measurements -"

"TO THE MILLIMETER!"

"-exactly," Mochiage points purposefully, squinting his eyes dramatically, " _as he sees them_."

"That's preposterous." Hotaru tapped her nails on the edge of her laptop, frowning at the dramatic men, "it is physically, biologically impossible for a human being to be able to see something and immediately know its measurement _and_ make calculations with those _exact_ measurements while on a mission."

"No," Koko disagreed, slamming his right hand into his left palm in a chopping motion, "it's _physics._ "

"Physics?" Natsume asked absently as he strolled into the room. His gaze flitted to Mikan briefly as he passed her towards the fridge. "I'm pretty good at physics," he commented as he reached in to grab a bottle of water.

"Are you really?" Kitsuneme leaned forward interestedly, though the question was directed at Natsume, he turned his pointed gaze at the doubtful Hotaru.

Natsume half-shrugged. "Don't expect me to do your work for you." He remarked as he passed by.

"No, no, of course not!" Koko grinned, a little too brightly.

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"You want to see _what_?" Sumire deadpanned, glaring at the three men standing in front of her with sheepish grins.

"Scholarly purposes, I swear!" Koko claimed quickly.

"Birth certificates are classified," the boss clipped, "and I don't see why it would help you. Natsume, _obviously_ , just gets lucky."

"That's what Nonoko and Mikan said!" Kitsuneme exclaimed, "you women have no imagination!"

"Excuse me?" The boss raised her brow sharply. Koko turned to his friend with a horrified 'why-would-you-say-that!' look. Mochu raised his hands in surrender as if to say he had no part in the comment.

"I mean-" Kitsuneme stumbled over his words, "women are fantastic human beings-"

Sumire raised a hand with a roll of her eyes. In quick succession, she ordered with the authority of the Queen of England. "Get back to work. Get out of my office."

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"Well?" They all gathered around him, waiting impatiently for an answer.

He smirked his signature smirk, causing Mikan to roll her eyes.

"I defy gravity."

There was a collective groan. A change of money and hands commenced.

Then: "IN MY OFFICE, HYUUGA! EVERYONE BACK TO WORK - AND NO BETS!"

There was another collective groan.


End file.
